Your Avid Bruxist has been throwing herself a really lavish multi-day Pity Party, kind of like a Jay Gatsby shindig except instead of booze-guzzling/the Charleston/general mischief, it’s been more like compulsive eating/”Guess I’ll Go Eat Worms”/general crying.
I almost just flung myself on the bed and pulled the covers over my head.
On the way to my boudoir, I figured I’d just check to see if there was anything worthwhile during the second week of July in previous years, but there probably wouldn’t be because I’m a terrible writer and Everything’s the Worst (stomp stomp stomp).
I wish I could say I found Greatness, but I didn’t (of course). I found when my boyfriend and I broke up three years ago. That was fun.
I found a few dating guidelines I drafted, and some really amazing comments by readers, from two years ago. You guys should just write this blog.
And I found el dia en que yo fui el machete last year. That’s an all right story, I guess.
Now excuse me while I go whimper.
Happy Stupid Retrobruxist Friday, y’all.